


Childhood Phobos

by TrickrTreason



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anxiety Attacks, Gen, Hallucinations, Happy Ending, Jonny is based on his Gotham-verse self, Past Child Abuse, Southern Gothic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-18 04:09:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10608996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrickrTreason/pseuds/TrickrTreason
Summary: Based on an AU I absolutely adore written user grindly. I've deviated on the original idea a bit more, leaning more towards a gothic piece than the gorgeous fluff of their works. Jonathan is suffering from auditory and visual hallucinations and anxiety attacks. It's up to his two friends to bring him back to realty.





	

_Please enjoy and leave and comments or constructive crit in the comments, thank you :) ___

__While sometimes the sounds of rain can be soothing, the sound of hard rain drops pounding on a window, demanding entry, is almost never as calm. In the dim light of a semi-faulty lamp, bespeckled blue eyes regarded the storm raging outside nervously. The sky was dark and grim, rain merely adding to the bleakness of the city below. Rubbing the grogginess from his eyes, Jonathan regarded the time at the bottom half of his laptop; 3:06 AM, haunting hour. “Terrific,” he grumbled, tossing his now shut laptop to the other end of his overly plush couch. It was probably going to rain all day based on this weather and he had about three options, pay to take a cab to his group therapy session, walk the five blocks in the storm or stay home and feel depressed all day. When that last option sounded the sweetest, Jonathan new he had hit an all new rock bottom._ _

__With tired eyes, he regarded the sleek black cat currently lapping up the remains of a hot pocket on a plate that had just never made it to the sink. Sighing, he decided that if he wasn’t going to sleep, he was going to put on the kettle and feed the cat. Dropping three pumpkin spice tea bags into the kettle, he then fed the cat and sat down on his couch with an exaggerated ‘fwump’. The familiar low rumble of the kettle filled the apartment with the crunching of dry cat food. Grabbing his laptop and opening up Netflix, he scrolled through the horror movie section until he found one appropriately atmospheric. The beginning of the movie was fairly slow but it did have nice autumn imagery that made it more of a movie about Halloween than a Halloween movie. Just as they started to introduce the eerie music, Jonathan’s mind began to wander, wandering to a place that smelt distinctly of hay and mildew._ _

__Crack_ _

__A bundle of wooden sticks broke against the face of a young raven haired boy._ _

__Crack_ _

__“Granny please, I swear it wasn’t me. I’d never hurt those children”_ _

__She was dressed in a black dress, when she opened her mouth she had too many teeth._ _

__Crack_ _

__“I always knew you were a monster, child.”_ _

__Crack_ _

__The sticks are dripping in blood, but the boy hasn’t bled yet._ _

__The sound of vultures overhead surrounds the two in the field._ _

__Crack_ _

__She lunges at him, nails digging at the flesh of his stomach. Nails melting into his stomach._ _

__Crack_ _

__Flesh and blood and vein, they mold together in a hideous lump of putrid gore._ _

__They scream._ _

__High pitched whistling scream they scream they scream they scream they-oh. Waking from his daydream, Jonathan tries to shake the disturbing images from his mind and take care of the kettle. He chuckles softly, looking down at the kettle. It’s not a monster, it never was and yet Jonathan can feel a tear rolling down his cheek. Unsteady hands pour the reddish brown liquid from the kettle into a decidedly nerdy mug. Looking down at the counter, at the way the tea spilt and dripped to the floor, it looks like blood. A laugh bubbled up from his chest, a pained, manic laugh. A laugh because his only other option in this situation is to cry, and he’s just a bit too drained for all that._ _

__Padding over to the couch, hands trembling around his lime green mug, he gingerly sits down on the couch placing his mug on a ghost shaped coaster on his coffee table. The movie’s monster was on his laptop screen, long, barbed tongue dripping down to startle the femme fatale. Jonathan sighs to himself and reclines further into his couch; he had thought he was over these dreams, memories, that his brain would stop travelling to such horrid places._ _

__“Georgia,” Jonathan mutters spitefully to himself. The Deep South where preacher men hid their cloudy dead eyes under hats and in the scorching hot sun, you swear you can see the scarecrows moving, their black button eyes glittering coyly. Chapels are abandoned by civilization, homing swarms of blackbirds, decaying wooden floors a feeding ground for maggots. A young man in his Sunday’s best walks into the church, searching in vain for his Grandmother. Pus colored ropes swarm around his ankles; gaping maws open in a pant after his blood. Nervous eyes flicker down in horror to see the pale yellow floor of flesh pulsing at his feet, trapping him. Screams from the black feathered ceiling snaps his attention upward, the beady eyes of crows shining manically as they squirm and thrust as a single unit, diving towards the boy. The guffawing caws of the birds mingle with the incredible church bells and the highpitch howling of hungry maggots. The boy opens his mouth to scream-_ _

__“No! Oh… god no,” Jonathan sobs into his hands. “Please no more.”_ _

__Opening his eyes he takes in his surrounding, his stained coffee table, his cat cleaning herself next to him and the cool grey light of dawn peeking through the windows . No straw, no wooden floorboards of a church, no Georgia. Hiccupping softly, wobbly hands search around for a forgotten cellphone. Bony knees drop to worn carpeting in a desperate search for his phone on the floor, under the table, on the table. Finally long fingers grasp around the found life-line and shakily punch in a number. Whimpering faintly at the rings of the phone he silently prays that she’ll pick up._ _

__“Hello,” said a bright voice on the other side of the phone._ _

__“Babs? Babs is that you,” Jonathan chokes out; voice no more than a strained whine._ _

__“Jonathan, what’s wrong? Are you okay, you sound like you’ve been crying.”_ _

__“I h-had another panic attack. It was Georgia again.”_ _

__“Oh, Jon,” she says, voice soft with concern. “You know those things really never happened right? That there never were any monsters?”_ _

__“I know” he breathes out, slowly blinking his way back into reality. The soft grey carpet under his knees, the chipped black nail polish on his left hand, the tear stains left on his sweatpants._ _

__“Do you want me to come over?” she asked. Jonathan made a soft sound of agreement, feeling a new wave of tears rush over him._ _

__“I’ll be over in ten,” she said, and with that the phone clicked off and Jonathan was once more alone._ _


End file.
